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the reasons why I gave up on the Ph.D.'
    'And the other reasons?'
    'They were mostly to do with Sally.'
    'I was told she went abroad after the inquest.'
    'So she did.'
    'You went with her?'
    'Yes.'
    'I'm sorry... about her death.'
    'Me too.'
    'Was it suicide?'
    'How would I know? We'd separated by then.'
    'But what do you think?'
    Umber took a deep swallow of beer and stared at Sharp. 'Same as you.'
    Sharp cleared his throat. 'According to my notes, I considered the possibility that you'd made the Griffin story up to explain your presence at Avebury.'
    'And did you consider why I'd have wanted to be there?'
    'Of course.'
    'With what result?'
    'I never figured it out.'
    'That's because there was nothing to figure out.'
    'It seems not.'
    'Is that definite, then? You no longer think I might have been lying?'
    'I'll go one better. I don't think you're lying now either. I just can't decide whether that's good news or bad.'
    'What the hell does that mean?'
    'It means you're wrong about Junius, Mr Umber. Somebody does give a damn.'
    Umber grimaced in bewilderment. Perhaps he had drunk too much. Perhaps Sharp had. What in God's name was the man driving at?
    'I had a letter a few weeks ago, basically telling me I cocked up the Avebury inquiry and should do something about it. Anonymous, naturally.'
    'Did you think I sent it? Is that why you came all this way to see me?'
    'Yes.'
    'Well, you've had a wasted journey, then, haven't you?'
    'I don't see it that way. You have to understand. You were the obvious suspect.'
    'Why?'
    'Because of the source of the letter.'
    'You just said you didn't know who it was from.'
    'I said it was anonymous. Maybe I should have said... pseudonymous. That's the really strange thing, you see. The letter... was from Junius.'
THREE
    21. January
    SIR, It is the misfortune of your life that you should never have been acquainted with the truth with respect to the Marlborough murderers.
    It is not, however, too late to correct the error. I am unable to" correct it. It is time for those who have no view to private advantage, it is time for such men to interpose.
    You have already much to answer for. The subject comes home to us all.
    JUNIUS.

    David Umber had read the letter several times and he was still unable to offer an intelligent response. Someone had cut various words and/or phrases out of an edition of the Junius letters and stuck them onto a sheet of paper to form this strangest of messages. It was a photocopy, of course. The letters themselves need not have been mutilated. But that was a small point. The overriding issue was: why?
    'Aren't you going to say something?' Sharp prompted.
    They were in the blandly decorated bar of Sharp's no-frills hotel near Charles Square. Umber had gone there in a mood of some scepticism, expecting to see something spectacularly un-Junian. But what Sharp had brought down from his room-safe was in fact eerily authentic.
    'For God's sake, man, tell me what you make of it.'
    'I don't know,' Umber said at last. 'I really don't know.'
    'Are those Junius's words on the page or aren't they?'
    'The words? Oh yes. I recognize some of the phrases. The start's from his famous letter to the King. The rest? I couldn't say exactly which letters they come from, but it's all Junius. The use of the long S confirms it as eighteenth-century type. The splitting up of the word "acquainted" is obviously an original line break. And the date's authentic too. Junius's first letter was dated the twenty-first of January, 1769. These must be extracts from one of the early collected editions.'
    'Like the one Griffin was offering to show you?'
    'Like it, yes. But --'
    'It's tied up with that, isn't it?'
    'How can it be?'
    'Your guess is as good as mine. Or better. You are the Junius expert.'
    ' Was . A long time ago.'
    'That still makes you one of the few people who could have put this letter together. I'll bet you've got a first-edition Junius tucked away somewhere.'
    'Not so, actually.' It was true,